What makes you think this is over?
by Giddyup1234
Summary: This is an introduction for a story idea I had, what do you think? would it be something you would read and follow?
1. Chapter 1

Quiet. It was an expansive, vacuum-like thing that gave the whole scene an air of supernatural stillness, as though the hand of an unseen being pressed over them, muffling even the most natural of sounds. The snowfall was brooding and ominous, an omen to those foolish enough to venture out on a frigid December night.

Two men, dusted in hazy snowfall were lying sprawled on the cold, snow-covered cobbles of the alleyway. The dark haired man's breath came out between his blue lips sending the snow swirling, his gasping breaths were seen rather than heard in the still winter night. His tousled dark hair was flecked with white, and the snow beneath his head was flecked with red. The obvious crease between his eyebrows showed a mind saturated with thought, or perhaps even pain. He was hurt, but he was alive.

The other man lay too still, his normally lined face was slack, and his eyes more sunken than was natural. His skin looked grey in the dim light, and no swirling breath escaped from his gaping jaw. Snow fell with impunity into his open mouth and clung lightly to his eyelashes and the few wisps of graying brown hair that stuck out beneath his flat cap. Blood rolled sideways out of a nostril, making its slow steady way to the growing black pool beneath his head. He was dead.

Harry's head felt heavy, as he pulled his eyes closed more tightly, as a slowly swelling pain filled the spaces behind his eyes. A small groan escaped his lips as he gingerly tried to shift one throbbing leg. What had happened? The ringing in his ears told him that he was not waking up from sleep, but rather from a cold unconsciousness. Memories swirled dimly just out of reach in his foggy, undulating mind. It would have been easy to just allow the fog to float about in his memory- a comforting haze of half formed images. Instinctively however, Harry pushed forward out of the fog and into consciousness, probing for something real and solid in the mire that was his brain. With an effort something emerged- a man called Mr. Wainwright, and a Wand.

Pain, Fresh and sharp and pungent pierced through Harry, rousing him more completely than a splash of icy water. His eyes flew open and he jerked himself to a sitting position, instantly cursing his Auror's instinct as white hot stars blazed across his vision. He pressed a palm to his head to steady it's throbbing contents, but when he pulled his hand away he saw a copious amount of blood smeared on his hand, and dimly, through the spread fingers of his hand he saw the body of Arlen Wainwright.

Mr. Wainwright had been Harry's Ministry appointed mentor for the past eleven months, since the time that all of the special permissions had been arranged and signed off by the Minister of Magic. Many of his former classmates had chosen to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to complete the year that was taken from them by Voldemort's sinister regime. Harry, Ron, and Hermionie however could not return to hogwarts after their role in the dark lord's in the downfall had been become more widely known. Fame, However nobly earned, had been a constant distraction, and made a return to hogwarts a laughable idea. However, with the help of friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermionie had continued their education in a more practical way.

Mr. Wainwright, far from being dazzled by The-Boy-Who-Defeated-the-Dark-Lord, seemed immune to the notoriety that followed Harry doggedly in the days following you-know-who's demise. Mr. Wainwright treated harry as he would any other apprentice Auror, speaking to him as though he doubted he knew which end of a wand made sparks. Harry was not bothered by 's lack of faith in his mental capacity, and in fact he found it a refreshing change from being hero-worshipped by strangers. In fact, most recently Harry had felt that they had struck up a tentative kind of friendship, as evidenced by the fact that had on two occasions addressed him as 'Harry' rather than 'Potter' or 'Porter'. He later gathered that Porter was the name of a previous apprentice, and not evidence that Arlen Wainwright did not know Harry's famous name or infamous story. Still for this reason alone Harry had liked the man.

In the Months they had been together Harry had learned much. Harry was the first to admit that his own practical skills, though good enough for promising OWL marks, were feeble when compared with those of real Aurors, an idea with which seemed to agree. Even Mr. Wainwright though had to admit that Harry's reflexes and instinct were extraordinary.

The body of Arlen Wainwright lying not two feet from Harry acted as a stimulus, reminding him of why they had been pelting down the alleyway with wands drawn, and why Harry was still alive while Arlen's body was rapidly cooling and stiffening in the subzero temperatures. Despite the chill of the night Harry felt a an angry heat flush through his system, and, seizing the fractured halves of Wainwright's wand, Harry was on his feet again, all pain forgotten. in three bounding steps Harry was at the end of the Alleyway looking down and the freshly fallen snow he saw the slight indentation in the snow of three pairs of footprints turning left up another alleyway that twisted out of sight. pocketing Wainwrights wand, he drew his own,

"Lumos!", he panted out, and then was darting down the narrow path, a fresh surge of anger fueling him on, totally oblivious to the danger of charging in to a wand-fight, outnumbered, injured, and too full of rage to be entirely reasonable. He sprinted along behind the yellow pool of light, trying not to become distracted by the images of Mr. Wainwrights cold body slowly being covered with snow that flit through his brain.

The alley curved Left, right, then descended in a sharp right turn that seemed to make the stone buildings around him grow larger and more ominous with each passing step. When the path leveled out Harry's wand light splashed over a stone wall directly in front of him and he barely managed to stumble to a halt, hands slapping on the solid surface, wand clutched under his pinky and ring fingers. Harry closed his eyes against the pain that seemed to catch up with him for a moment, and then, Green eyes flying open, he spun around pointing his wand at the ground before him, rapidly scanning the ground for tracks in the soft snow.

And there, slightly disturbed by his own prints were three sets of tracks, that stopped dead and then went absolutely that could only be made by three people apparently vanishing into thin air.

Harry's own Anger seemed to vanish with these men, to be replaced with terrible staggering pain, both emotional and physical. His back slammed against the cold wall behind, and he slid down till he was crouched in the snow. It took all his strength to raise his wand, fill his head with thoughts of bright red hair and a soft scent of something flowery, and exhale,

""Expecto Patronum…."

He watched blurrily as a silver stag bounded into the night, before he closed his eyes on the cruel reality of this night.

His last thought before he slipped into the void was of Ginny Weasley, and all else fell away.


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny Weasley woke with a start, her deep brown eyes flying open, an inexplicable fear gripping her, as her racing heart caused her to sit bolt up-right in bed. She struggled out of her bed sheets, trying to remember why she was awoken in the first place. Thankfully this dream had not ended in her screaming herself (and those who shared her dormitory) awake again. She pressed a clammy hand to her mouth at the memory. Her body was sweaty even though the fire in the dormitory had long since gone out, leaving the room nearly as chilly as the cool draft that sneaked in through the old tower walls. she shuddered silently as she glanced around at her sleeping peers. she was surprised that none of them had woken up to the chill and restarted the fire in the grate. The cold was bitter.

Rubbing her hands together she snatched up her wand from the bedside table and finished extracting herself from her covers. The dormitory was bathed in bright dappled moonlight, so she was easily able to make her way to the fireplace and prod the near-dead embers awake once more with her wand. the bright flash of flame and the glow of heat was like a patronus in the darkness, warding away the cold as if it were a dementor closing in. It felt good on her cool sweaty body. She raised her still shaking hands to warm them in the glow of the fire. Closing her eyes, she willed away the fear that had gripped her. Cautiously, she tried to remember the terrifying dream that had brought her so unwillingly back to consciousness. Slowly something did come back to her. She remembered green eyes staring out of a battered face, wearing an expression that was so pained and desperate it caused a knot to form in her chest.

She knew those eyes like she knew her own name, they were Harry's eyes, and then the wave of fear hit her again. she felt far more disturbed about the look in Harry's eyes then the battered appearance of his face. Harry had always been a man who lived a dangerous life. He was not brave necessarily, but rather he seemed to have always felt an obligation to be a champion for his fellow man. He did not scare easily, and he did not ever seem to fall into despair. So why did he look as he did? And why was she dreaming of Harry again? she had not dreamed of him in over a year. Not since he had been in danger, so why now? they had seen each other more than a few minutes in passing since Voldemort's fall, but she thought of him so often she felt as though he were a constant companion. Something must be wrong.

More than anything else though, she was filled with dread as she thought she knew what this dream must mean. Harry was in trouble, and by the looks of it, needed help. She was not certain how she knew this, but instinct told her not to question it. She must do something, tell someone, find help for Harry. She wasn't sure where he was, but she did know that he needed to be found immediately.

Turning her back on the comforting flames, she crossed the room flung open her trunk,momentarily cursing herself for forgetting that she shared a room with five other young women who were all currently enjoying wonderfully uneventful sleep. gingerly she shifted a few items around until her fingers found a small cloth pouch at the bottom. as quietly as she could, she extracted the pouch and gently replaced the lid of her trunk. For some reason, she did not want her friends to wake up, perhaps she feared their questions and the thought that if they knew what she was doing,or WHY she was doing it, they would most certainly think she was mad.

swiftly she gathered up her wand, and the satchel of floo powder and opened the door to spiral staircase. She padded cat-like down the same pitch black stair she'd walked for seven years, she now knew them by heart and had no trouble avoiding every squeaky stair on her way down. As she rounded the corner that opened up into the common room, she blessed the late hour as it was at the moment mercifully empty.

On a normal night Ginny would often slip into the common room when everyone else was sleeping. It was where she could truly let her walls down. when she had returned to Hogwarts, many a night she had found herself sitting here in the dark feeling the weighty sadness of all that had been lost to her in the recent past. In this place, in this room, she felt closer to the people who had once been here too. she felt Fred's laughing spirit imbued in the walls here. most often it was a comfort, but on some nights it brought her such terrible sadness. Sometimes she wondered why she had chosen to come back to this place. was it to torture herself? No, she reasoned that this path she had chosen was the one that would help her heal, and it was hers alone to walk. Perhaps that was why she understood that Harry, who had alway been a man of action rather than strong emotion, needed to be doing something to heal. His path suited him, and so did hers. That did not change the fact that she missed him.

She was counting down the two weeks until the Christmas break when she was to take the train back home. She wanted to see her family again, and to see Harry again. she had kept in touch with her mother and Harry by owl post, but most recently Harry's letters had been much more short and to the point. Harry's mentor, a formidable Auror name Arlen Wainwright had not approved of their correspondence as he believed it distracted his pupil from the task at hand, which, she managed to gather from Harry's cryptic writing on the subject was to track down some dangerous magical artifact or other. She wasn't certain she liked Mr. Wainwright, although Harry obviously admired the man, and called him, "Stoic"and "Unshakable". Ginny however had rather thought he sounded like a bit of a arrogant and cold man, with a propensity to distrust other people. Still, he seemed very knowledgeable and she felt moderately better knowing that Harry was with someone who would be useful in a fight, as fights seemed to follow the boy like a dog and his tail. Whatever Artifact they were seeking must have been rather important, and most likely very dangerous.

Ginny crossed the common room and knelt in front of the fireplace, fingers fumbling from sheer nervousness she drew open the small pouch and pinched a small amount of the green powder unto her shaking, sweaty palm. Leaning down towards the fire, the green powder on her open palm, she blew, scattering the green dust over the glowing coals. emerald flames sprang forth from the grate and Ginny, on all fours now, thrust her head into the flames shouting,

"Twenty-seven Amesbury Court".

Ginny's red hair swirled about her face as she screwed her eyes shut to the spinning green flames dancing around her. the world became solid again, she opened her eyes and found herself looking into a fairly plain room. Mismatched chairs sat on either side of the fireplace and a single picture, hung slightly crookedly on the wall. Ron needed some serious help in the decorating department, Ginny thought, this place was depressing.

"Ron!", she called into the empty room, "Ron, wake up!"

she heard a thump from our of sight, a curse, and what sounded like a woman's voice. Ginny didn't have time to feel embarrassed,

"Ron! I'm in the fireplace! It's Ginny!"

after a moment of silence she heard the sound of footsteps, a few moments later her brother appeared, hastily pulling tight the knot on a dressing gown.

" I suppose you think it's funny to pop your head through floo at all hours, do you?" Ron complained loudly as he plopped heavily into one of the armchairs in front of the fire. when he caught a look at her face his whole attitude changed,

"Ginny, what's happened? Are you alright"

"I'm fine, look Ron, I think something's wrong with Harry, do you know where he is?" "Gin, really,you look terrible...wait, why would I know where Harry is? It's the middle of the bloody night."

"I think something's happened to him... he's hurt or in danger….. I'm not sure… but something's not right…."

"how do you figure that? you haven's seen him have you?"

"Yes. Well, no… Well.. a bit. It was in this dream I was having, except, I think it was real. Please Ron, I'm not crazy, can you just trust me?"

it was a mark of how strange his life the past few years had been that he accepted without question.

"Let me get Hermionie" he said, and then paused, a flush creeping into his cheeks, "Don't tell mum."

Turning his back on the fireplace, he walked out the room and returned a few minutes later, Hermionie in her dressing gown trailing behind looking confused. Seeing Ginny's head in the fireplace she stopped short a blush coming to her cheeks.

"Ginny…I…." she trailed off.

Hastily Ginny Filled them in on her dream, finishing with, "I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me."

Ron and Hermionie exchanged a meaningful look,

"look Ginny," Hermionie started, "We are friends with Harry, weird stuff comes naturally to us, it you say it was real, we believe you."

"I think you need to head back to bed before someone catches you out," said Ron carefully, " and I think I need to send a few owls to some ministry people. I'll send you an Owl when I've found something out." after a pause he said, "oh, and Ginny, try not to worry too much. I mean, we are talking about the chosen one…He can take care of himself"

Ginny nodded distractedly, gave a weak smile and pulled her head back through the fireplace and back to her body, still kneeling in the cold Gryffindor common room.

Her mind was buzzing. She had to do something else, but what else COULD she do when she was at school? Her mind came back to Ron and Hermionie. She had obviously interrupted something when she had stuck her head into her brother's apartment. she gave her head a small shake to dispel the images that came unbidden to her mind. It wasn't surprising, it was just one of those things that wasnt meant to be dwelled upon.

heavily, she rose and made her way back to the spiral staircase, with a final glance at the empty fireplace she made her way back to the dormitory she crawled back under her covers and tried not to fall asleep, fearful of what she might see if she did.


	3. Chapter 3

"OYE! OVER HERE!", was the shout that brought Harry back into his pulverized heap of a body.

"Mitchell, STRETCHER!", cried a woman.

"Is he alive?", a gravelly third voice quested.

"Why else would she ask for the stretcher, you toad! Now, Hurry!", chided the first voice angrily.

Harry felt fingers gently prying open an eyelid, and he instinctively flinched away with a groan.

"Harry, can you hear me?" the woman's voice said soothingly, "I'm from 's, and I'm going to apparate you on this stretcher back to the Hospital, please do not struggle, or you may be splinched."

Harry slowly opened one eye and saw a pretty round faced woman with neat bobbed hair staring back at him. Behind her stood a gangling blonde man with thin reddish mustache, and next to him a fat man with tanned skin and squinting brown eyes holding a wand pointed at a hovering stretcher. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but all that escaped him was a faint wet cough.

"a touch of pnuemonia, too…" muttered the woman frowning down at Harry, "Geeves, lift him, Netterly, the stretcher please."

The blonde man who, was evidently called Geeves flicked his wand and Harry felt a floaty and weightless sensation spread through his body as he rose easily into the air and stopped, abruptly at waist height. Then the portly Netterly, waved his stretcher under him. The Woman then raised her wand and glided it from harry's toes to his neck conjuring a warmed blanket across his body. The cold was so deep in his bones that Harry rather knew himself to be cold rather than felt it. He gave a small shudder as the blanket's warmth spread over his body like he'd been covered in thick, warm gravy.

"Grab the handles and we'll all apparate on three," instructed the woman whose bossy tone rather reminded him of the way Hermionie sounded when she was telling them the correct way to do a spell.

"Wait…" rasped harry, " ….I….. I wasn't...alone. My… p-partner…..Arlen…."

Silence, and then,

"We found him." the woman stated flatly.

The way she'd said 'we found him' caused a pang of shame in his gut that took him a moment to place. The memories trickled slowly at first, and then flooded his brain as everything came rushing back. Arlen shouting at Harry to draw his wand. Arlen Charging forward at the three shadow men in the alleyway. Arlen dueling furiously, with Harry at his side. Arlen's wide-eyes as the explosive curse hurtled bore down on them. Arlen casting his shield charm on Harry, whose wand had been knocked out of his hand, And Arlen, lying spread eagled in the snow, a halo of blood under his head, and a vacant expression on his slack-jawed face. Harry remembered, but it did not make him feel any better. Now, along with a long list of friends, Arlen joined the list of noble people to whom Harry owed his life. His feelings of guilt, remorse and sorrow grew, and attempting to push back the tears that threatened his battered face, Harry asked the Woman,

"...Who are you?'

"Cecilia, Dear, and I am your friend, Mr. Potter. Now please lie still and don't struggle, you are injured"

"you think so?" growled Netterly.

"He looks like he met claw end of a hammer… a few times…" Geeves grimaced, peering down his nose at harry.

In an irritated voice Cecillia bit out,

"would you two just shut up and help me apparate him? On three now. One, Two, THREE!"

Harry felt that apparating on a good day was unpleasant, but he now he realized that apparating when injured was far, far less comfortable. He hadn't realized that he'd had any broken ribs until he felt them grinding together as his whole body was magically compressed. He cried out in pain and shock as, with a pop they burst back into existence in a cool marble corridor with a plaque hung on the wall that proclaimed this to be the St. Mungos Traumatic Spell Damage Reversal Ward. His cry reverberated around the cavernous vaulted ceilings and the scurryings of several red robed Mediwitches were halted as they all turned to see who had made the noise. As one the St. Mungo's staff descended on him, and harry, weak, exhausted, emotionally drained passed out to the sound to hurrying feet and urgent whispered conversations.

When harry awoke again, it was in a brightly lit room with brilliantly white walls and floors, and a green curtain pulled on one side of his bed. He was tucked in so tightly in sheets that were at once both very clean and very stiff, so that he couldn't bend his knees properly. His body felt heavy and numb, but the numbness was preferable to the pain, so he would not complain. raising his head and glancing about he saw his wand, a glass pitcher of water, and an upturned cup on a small table to his right. Instantly harry realized how parched his throat was and he reached over and picked up the pitcher flipped the glass and began pouring. The glass made a tiny 'tink' as he righted the pitcher to set it back on the table. abruptly summoned by the noise a brusque looking mediwitch whipped back the curtain,

"you're up! Good thing too, you've had owls all morning. How are you feeling dear? Do you need more pain potion? You were a nasty sight, I'll say. Let me help you with that pitcher, you're bound to be a little tipsy after all that ruckus."

Harry opened his mouth to say something but shut it again at once as the little witch snatched the pitcher out of his hand and immediately began again.

"You've had visitors, but of course, you wouldn't remember it, out on the sleeping draught you know. 'Whole flock of redheads, I suppose they were the weasleys, old family you know, and of course that Hermionie Granger. I was told to send them an owl the moment you woke up, and that Weasley girl in particular nearly cursed my hat off when I wouldn't commit to it. Are you feeling up for visitors Harry?"

harry agian tried to speak and was interrupted by the medi-witch leaning in to frown down her skinny nose at Harry's face

"Yes, yes, your color has improved tremendously, but you can still see a bit of the bruising. I'll tell the potion maker to add more Arnica this time and that should heal up nicely. Right! drink up and I'll fetch you some onion soup on my way to send the owl."

Harry frowned slightly as she bustled out of the room.

Twenty minutes later Harry heard a commotion down the hallway. The sounds of many feet and bickering voices grew louder and louder as they approached the doors to his ward. Preparing for the flood Harry set his soup down on the side table, and turned expectantly towards the door, trying to appear as healthy and good humored as possible for the sake of Mrs. Weasleys nerves. With a mighty BANG the door was flung wide and a crowd of redheads swept into the room. Hermionie trailing behind with Ron by her side, but amidst the commotion, Harry's eyes traveled instinctively to one particular face in the crowd, and despite the thoughts of Mr. Wainwright, and the pain, and the stress of the nights events, Harry couldn't keep a wide grin from spreading across his face. Ginny did not, however, smile back at him. She was ghostly white and looked stricken. The sight of her, even in looking diminished, was more powerful than any potion. Harry felt his spirits raise and selfishly somewhere deep inside of himself he felt a small purr of satisfaction that his well being meant so much to her, but he instantly quelled that thought as he remembered that the were no longer a together in any intimate sense. Her affection for him was sisterly and innocent, but his, on the other hand, was… well… not brotherly.


End file.
